


Muscles and Silken Hair

by Larkawolfgirl



Series: Dare to Write Challenge [7]
Category: Tales of Berseria, Tales of Series
Genre: F/F, Lesbian Character, Relationship Study, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10078574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larkawolfgirl/pseuds/Larkawolfgirl
Summary: Velvet is a wildfire, burning bright and unrestrained. All muscle and energy but also delicate and pliant, and Eleanor is too far gone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dare to Write challenge. Prompt: wildfire  
> Though my main inspiration was just wanting to write something about buff Velvet as drawn by munadoodlesnonsense on tumblr. See examples [here](http://munadoodlesnonsense.tumblr.com/post/152804685737/sighs-vals-back), [here](http://munadoodlesnonsense.tumblr.com/post/156301042892/old-doodle), and [here](http://munadoodlesnonsense.tumblr.com/post/154624410277/open-the-image-to-a-new-tab-for-hq).

Against her own propriety, Eleanor has always been a little helpless when it came to women. They were just so beautiful, elegant and shining, calling silently to be touched. Hair like silk under her fingertips and glossy skin smooth and warm. She never gave into her fancies, for both fear of rejection and to maintain her own reputation.

Yet, when she met Velvet, she could feel her chiseled willpower tumble on the spot. The woman was breathtaking. All muscle and unrestrained energy. She was a perfect balance of masculine and feminine energies, force and dominance coupled with delicate domesticity. The woman could easily crush her head in her deamon hand without breaking a sweat, yet a single word could shake her to the very core.

Eleanor loved watching her. Watching her exposed ab muscles ripple as she fought, her face twitch with the slightest of smiles when she spoke to Laphicet, her silken raven hair blowing subtly with the wind. The itch to touch over those features intensified the longer she spent with the woman, the more Velvet destroyed her initial assessment. This wasn’t a heartless monster out for revenge, this was a broken girl seeking closure. Eleanor’s heart was soon reaching out toward her as strongly as her fingers did, for she could understand where she was coming from. She could understand the hidden girl crying on the inside, for she was the same. And once she gave into this new perspective, she was truly beyond saving.

It was nothing unusual to share a bed with the deamon. Their funds often only allowed them two double rooms, and Magilou was an absolute terror to sleep with. But while she used to turn her back to the other woman and take calming breaths, she then found herself pulling her hesitantly to herself when she thought she was asleep. Her hair was just as silken as she suspected. She had pet her head, taking silent pleasure at her conquest, as she moved her hand slowly lower. But then a laugh proved she had made a mistake. Velvet was not asleep, instead rolling toward her with a devilish grin befit her deamonhood. A shiver ran up her spine, but then the woman’s lips where on hers, and she was even further gone.

Now she barely bothers to contemplate the justification for their relationship because it’s nothing shy of perfect. Velvet is a wildfire, burning bright and unrestrained straight through her path. Her heat radiates through her, pooling low in her abdomen and spreading through her bloodstream until her heart thrums in her chest and sweat dabs upon her brow. Velvet’s energy is palpable, urging her on even before they make contact, only making that contact that much more powerful.

Her touches are unpredictable, one day exceedingly gentle, her features softening for only Eleanor to see, another insatiably passionate, eyes and mouth smirking with devious intent. Either way, she is entirely addictive. The only thing Eleanor craves more than feeling those muscles riving over her flesh is feeling those muscles herself. She loves to feel along each rise and dip, feeling how they shift when she moves, especially in the throes of passion. And, Empyreans, is she ever passionate.

When Eleanor’s mouth finds her core, she often finds her head not just tugged on but literally clawed into (just another reason besides Velvet’s preference to wear her hair down in private). Velvet’s entire frame quakes at the simplest of touches, and she allows the most intoxicating noises. Utterances Eleanor never dreamed of before which causes her blood to boil even as a hot flush of embarrassment fills her cheeks. Things like, _that’s a good girl_ coming just as easily as _my pussy needs that sinful little tongue of yours so bad_.

On the other hand, Eleanor often finds herself lost for words completely. Even her own cries of pleasure are often lost due to breathlessness or her own embarrassment. Her lips and fingers sport occasional nip marks from her own censorship. Not that Velvet doesn’t tug her hands away in a firm grip above her head with those demanding eyes, even more commanding than her words, _stop holding back. I need to hear your voice, my little bird._ That name never ceases to work a loud moan from Eleanor despite herself. _Her little bird._ What Eleanor wouldn’t give to be her little pet locked away for safe keeping at this point.

Velvet is nearly overpowering in her intensity, but every so often Eleanor is graced with her more delicate side, the side that slips into slow, sensual sex. When she lays back abdicating Eleanor the dominate role and permitting Eleanor to just hold her for as long as she wants before her fingers lower to those sweltering folds. On these occasions, Eleanor takes the time to pet through her long silken hair, to kiss at the strands and along her cheeks and collarbone, to taste at her thin layer of built-up sweat. In these moments, she feels as if they are younger, as if they are both more exposed, dependent fragileness on full-display and pleading for a safety net. Their inner crying little girls calling out to one another, and afterward, their hands find each other as easily as their mouths exchange lazy kisses. Every once in a while, Eleanor actually sheds a tear or two, to Velvet’s immediate concern. Eleanor just chuckles as she wipes the liquid away. _Never better_ , she says in all truthfulness, squeezing the other woman’s hand that much tighter.


End file.
